


Intoxicated By You

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 09:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: Hermione Granger never expected to be bent over the bar where she served dozens of patrons daily, only to be shagged mercilessly by the blond-haired git she had avoided for so long. But with a little push from an archaic magazine article and her two friends, this is precisely what happens. Based on the Prompt: Ask your friends' husbands who the eligible men are in their offices.





	Intoxicated By You

**Author's Note:**

> Beta Love to BoredRavenvlaw620, for her hours of attention! I am forever grateful! And a huge thank you to Sleepygrimm, who made a moodboard for this that was...shall we say...sinfully delicious?
> 
> Also to Mrs.Ren and Bailey4047, who preread!

 

 

**Intoxicated by You**

Hermione Granger needed to be fucked. Not a soft, thoughtful love-making session. Not a slow, tantric marathon that lasted hours and ended with her partner conveniently spending the night. Not a gaze-into-my-eyes-as-I-whisper-sweet-nothings moment, filled with empty promises and hollow declarations. No. What Hermione needed was a quick, rough, dirty fucking that left her knees knocking and her cunt dripping.

As she filled a pitcher of werewolf-brewed ale, she pressed her thighs together, trying to create friction and pressure enough to ease her insatiable arousal. Her entire arsenal of muggle toys and hours of solo performances had done nothing to quell the burning desire within her.

It was Valentine’s weekend—a fucking nonsensical holiday based around false proclamations of love and monetary gift exchanges. The pub, usually crawling with youthful witches and wizards by this point on a Friday night, was nearly empty. Only Blaise and Lavender sat at the bar, waiting for Hermione to close up. Old Man Hockley occupied his usual table in the far-left corner, his crazy eye staring out of the window even as he watched Hermione work with his good eye.

“Well, let’s ask Hermione,” Lavender began, pointing at the magazine on the countertop before her with one finely manicured finger. “What do you think about this article?”

Hermione glanced briefly at the page, her mouth turning down at the corners. “Looks like a bunch of drivel to me. _129 Tips on Finding a Wizard?_ Number Six: ‘Read the obituaries to find eligible widowers.’ Really, Lav? Classy.”

Blaise smirked at Hermione’s lack of enthusiasm as he brought a hand to play with his wife’s hair. “Told you, love. Hermione is a progressive witch.”

Lavender huffed, clearly displeased with the response, though her eyes continued to dart down the list. “There has to be _something_ in here worth trying—”

“Lavender, I’m perfectly happy being single—”

“—it’s been _ages_ since your last date,” Lavender quipped, flipping the page. “Ah. Here. Number Thirteen: ‘Ask your friends’ husbands who the eligible wizards are in their offices.’”

Her smile was triumphant as she finished, causing Hermione to roll her eyes though a small smile played at her own lips. “Sure. How about it, Blaise? Any eligible wizards on the team?”

Blaise shook his head, putting his hands up as though surrendering. “Sorry, doll. But you have scared the men on the Falcons. You nearly rode poor Higglesby into a coma.”

Hermione swatted Blaise with the dish towel she had been using to wipe the counters, her cheeks tinging pink even as her lips curved into a smug smile. It was true that she had given it a whirl with most of the men on the team, and each one had been more unsatisfactory than the last. They wanted quick, easy lays with little effort on her part. And damned if she would allow them to get off that easily—especially if she wasn’t getting off first.

Blaise laughed heartily as he ran a fingertip over his lips. “Unless… there is one who just joined the team.”

Lavender’s eyes grew wide and sparkled with unadulterated mischief, a perfect match to that of her husband. “I never thought about _him._ Oh, Hermione, he’s _fit_ as a self-playing fiddle. And he will be here any minute. It’s perfect!”

She knew precisely who the _‘him’_ in question was—this was not the first, not the second, but the _third_ time they had attempted to set her up with the wizard. Her head shook from side to side so vigorously that her curls bounced wildly. “Not no, but _hell_ no.”

“Hermione. You have to give him a chance,” Blaise began.

His wife nodded in agreeance, a wide grin on her face. “You really do! He’s nothing like he was back in school!”

“Minnie!” Old Man Hockley called from his place by the window, beckoning her forth to refill his cider.

“I’ll be right there, Gerald,” she responded, lowering her gaze to the married couple before her. “No. That is final.”

“You can’t be alone forever,” Lavender nearly whined, slamming the magazine shut as Hermione poured cider into a glass.

“I’m not alone. I have Gerald,” Hermione snipped, stepping around the bar to bring the crazy hermit his drink. “Isn’t that right, love?”

Old Man Hockley looked up at her with his one eye, the other still wandering the streets of Hogsmeade beyond. “I’m all yours, Minnie. _Anytime_.”

Hermione let out a laugh just as the door opened and a gust of cool air blew in. And then there _he_ was—the Devil incarnate. Draco Malfoy strode into Bliley’s Pub as though he owned the place—his usual confident arrogance preceding him like a thick smoke. Merlin help her, he looked fucking _good._ Clad in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a black jumper that clung to his every taut muscle, an involuntary shudder ran through her core. He swiped his fingers through his hair, combing away remnants of a few snowflakes that had fallen on the unseasonably wintry Valentine’s eve.

 _How hard could it possibly be to cover up two murders?_ She pondered this question as she turned away from the impossibly attractive wizard and glowered in the direction of her two friends. Blaise had a smirk on his face as he lifted a glass to his lips, while his wife at least had the decency to look _slightly_ ashamed. Malfoy sauntered over to his fellow former-Slytherin and exchanged a shaking of the hands and a placed a peck on Lavender’s cheek cordially. “It’s colder than a fucking Dementor’s Kiss out there, mate. Why in the hell did you insist I meet you here?”

 _Fuck._ Even the deep timber of his smooth drawl made a heat pool low in Hermione’s belly. She rolled her shoulders and lifted her chin in determination. She would definitely _not_ allow herself to be ensnared by someone so cheaply debonair. Not to mention he hadn’t even glanced in her direction yet. Her resolve had been finite up to this point.

She felt a finger slide up her thigh and she swatted away Old Man Hockley’s hand behind her. “Keep your hands to yourself, Gerald. Or I will hex your bollocks clean off.”

The man withered under her intimidating warning and she turned away from him, trying her best to ignore the back of Malfoy’s white-blond head. She really needed a good fuck if she was even considering him anything but a grotesque womanizer. Stepping behind the high bar, reclaiming her place as bar wench, she leaned on the wood, eye-level with him. “Something I can get for you, Malfoy?”

His eyes finally turned from the conversation he had been having with Blaise and his brows bobbed with thinly veiled surprise. “Granger? Never thought I’d see the Ministry’s top official slumming it behind the bar in a pub.”

“Everyone needs a break from the stresses of politics once in a while,” she responded, already mildly irritated with his haughty attitude. “And it’s hardly _slumming_ it. The Ministry’s pay was a joke, as evidenced by the fact that I can make more here in one evening than I did in three days there.”

His eyes dipped to where her cleavage was resting on her crossed arms on the worktop and then followed the line of her throat to her lips. “I quite enjoy your work attire more here. Burned all of your stuffy suits and baggy robes?”

Hermione huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes as she stood upright. Lavender, the helpful little witch, piped up, “Who knew Hermione had such curves?”

Malfoy’s responding grin was wholly lascivious. “Who knew, indeed?” he quipped, and Blaise snorted into his glass. Clapping him on the back, Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Ogdens, neat.”

Hermione pursed her lips at his clipped insistence and poured the firewhiskey with her back to him. “So, Malfoy, no date tonight? No simpering little witch tossing herself at you for the chance to have a go with a famous Seeker?”

She set the glass in front of him and her own lips parted as she watched the way his curved around the edge. “Well, I’m no _Keeper_ ,” Malfoy drew the word out in a way that told her he knew _exactly_ what had happened with Higglesby, “but I get my fair share of admirers.”

“And yet, here you are, a thorn in my side,” she returned, and Lavender glared at her.

“Hermione gets off soon enough, Draco. Perhaps the two of you could…” Lavender waved her hand as though to say, ‘ _you fill in the blanks_.’

 

Her thighs pressed together involuntarily once more as she eyed the blond. _Getting off sounds like bliss._ Blaise nodded, slinging an arm around Lavender. “Hermione was just telling us how she had resorted to scouring the obituaries for her next date.”

Her cheeks flooded with warmth and the withering look she shot in his direction did little to destroy the mirth in his eyes. Malfoy’s face screwed up in confusion. “I do hope he’s not referring to the deceased.”

Blaise and Lavender roared at his joke as the blond watched her move. “I have plenty of dates—living ones—thank you,” she retorted, busying herself with washing already clean glasses the muggle way.

“Do you have a date tonight?” Malfoy asked. “Is that why you are wearing such a… _tantalizing_ little skirt?”

Lavender erupted into a fit of giggles and Blaise draped an arm around her, looking far too amused at the turn of events. Hermione chanced a look at Malfoy, who was staring openly at her exposed thighs. “Has the ink dried on your Divorce Decree, yet?” she hissed in his direction, though his fixation on her body was already causing tingling pulses to course through her.

“It was dried before I was wed, metaphorically speaking,” was his cryptic reply and Hermione assumed he didn’t feel like relaying the intricacies of his arranged—and failed—marriage with her.

Old man Hockley rose in his chair, a cumbersome effort. He was always the first to arrive and the last to leave each day, nearly drowning in alcohol. Hermione excused herself to rush to his side and steadied him as he swayed on the spot. “Come on, Gerald. Let’s get you to the floo.”

She tried desperately to ignore the party of three at her back. His eyes were trained on her—she could feel them boring into her head like lasers. “When you going to come home with me, Min?” Gerald slurred into her ear as she propped him in the fireplace.

“I don’t think you could handle her,” Blaise called from his seat. “She once made a man’s life flash before his eyes.”

Gerald looked at her with his one eye sparkling with hope and Hermione rolled her own. “Good night, Gerald. Remember, Matilda is tending bar tomorrow—so don’t hassle her.”

He grunted as Hermione stepped out of the floo and tossed in a hand of powder, calling out his address. When she turned, Malfoy was standing, leaning back against the bar on his elbows, one leg crossed leisurely over the other. He held the bottle of Ogden’s in his hand. “You’re a lousy bar maiden, you know that? I’ve been terribly parched for over a minute.”

She glared in his direction, snatching the bottle from his hand. “I was assisting a patron.”

“How very noble of you,” Malfoy responded, smirking effortlessly.

Hermione looked to her two friends. “Isn’t there somewhere you can take him?”

Malfoy was positively gleeful when he interjected. “You don’t mean that, love,” he lowered his voice and leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “and I would _much_ rather take you.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek at his quip, her eyes watching the way his fingers danced over the rim of his glass. Her mind began to wander into dangerous territory as she imagined those slender fingers playing over where she needed them most. Blaise exchanged a look with Lavender. “Sorry, Hermione. Lav and I were going to head up to Skevsborough Hill and watch the meteor shower. Relive our first date, you know?”

Lavender nodded, standing so Blaise could button her into her cloak. Hermione opened her mouth to protest—how could they watch a meteor shower if there were clouds of snow flurries impeding the view? But the pair were already exchanging farewells with Malfoy. Lavender grabbed her into a hug and smiled widely. “Be nice.”

“I’ll try, _mum_ ,” Hermione huffed.

Lavender leveled a meaningful look in her direction. “He is gorgeous and his reputation for gratifying sex is legendary. You might get a little something out of it.”

Lavender’s words, coupled with a quick glance in the blond’s direction, made her knees weak. _Could I really have a one-night stand with Draco sodding Malfoy?_ Blaise leaned in to kiss her cheek and Hermione pinched his upper arm. “Why him?”

“Why not?” was Blaise’s response as he pulled away to go.

The couple took their leave and Hermione’s stomach began tying itself in knots. Malfoy leaned on the bar, studying her as she waved her wand in her usual closing ritual. Chairs lifted themselves and stacked onto the tables and a mop ran itself over the floor. She poured herself a drink to steady her nerves and leaned across from him. _You want him. Go for it._ “No plans for the evening, then?”

“I suspect my plans were all a farce for Blaise to get me here with you. He said you had been asking after some of the wizards on the team,” Malfoy replied.

She had done no such thing until mere moments before he waltzed in. But Hermione thought it best to keep that tidbit to herself. The throb between her legs begged her to seduce him. “Not some. Just one.”

His eyes met hers, his lips parting at her sultry tone. Hermione smiled at him, reveling in the way his eyes scanned over her hungrily. Never before would she have given him a chance, but Merlin. He was here and willing and so very single. Raising her hand, she ran a single fingertip over the smooth angle of his jaw. “Let’s go back to my place,” he implored.

With a cheeky grin, Hermione replied, “Do you need a bed, then? How very _romantic._ ”

It was all the prompting Malfoy needed. He strode around the bar, taking her words as the challenge she meant them to be. His lips were on hers in a rough kiss, his hands sliding over her neck to thread into her curls. Hermione pressed against him with equal fervor, lifting up onto her tiptoes to meet his face with her own.

Malfoy backed her against the bar, pressing her firmly against it with the hard planes of his body. Everything about this union was so wrong, but _fuck_ , everything he was doing _felt_ so right. His hands ran down her sides and hips, dipping underneath of her skirt and causing gooseflesh to rise over her heated skin. He reached around and cupped her arse in a firm grip, sliding her knickers down swiftly. Her brain was in a complete haze, a squeal sounding from her lips as he lifted her and placed her to sit on the bar.

“This is a terrible idea, Granger,” he noted, pulling away from his assault on her lips to catch his breath.

Hermione was intrigued by the raw, unadulterated lust darkening the silver irises of his eyes. His voice had turned throaty and low, the deep timber echoing through her chest. “Do you want to stop then?” She was vaguely aware that she had spoken.

His only response was to drop his lips to the gentle slope of her breast, nipping and licking along the neckline of her shirt. The desire to touch him, to feel his skin for herself, was nearly overwhelming as she tugged his jumper from the waistband of his jeans. His skin was hard and smooth beneath her palm as she ran her hands over his sides and pulled him closer to herself.

With a forceful tug, he pulled her shirt over her head, getting it stuck only momentarily on her mess of curls. Malfoy chuckled as Hermione sniffed, tossing her shirt to the side. A pleased groan sounded at the back of his throat and he pushed her back on the bar some, all the while running his hands and tongue over her bare skin.

His palms pressed against her inner thighs, coaxing them apart and he moaned at the sight of her slick cunt glistening in the dim light. “Fuck, you’re already wet.”

Hermione fell back on her elbows, hitching her the soles of her shoes on the edge of the counter as she watched him push her skirt up around her hips. She could feel her heartbeat throbbing in her core and she had no doubt that he was going to make her drip with satisfaction before he was through. His lips drew a lazy path up the inside of one thigh before he reached the apex between her legs. His hands pressed her legs firmly apart as his face dipped between them.

The first swipe of his tongue along her seam made her hips rise to greet him like an old friend. She could feel his smirk as he held her firmly in place, taking her bud into his mouth and sucking gently. “Oh, fuck me,” she swore under her breath, digging her hands into his hair and attempting to push him closer.

“I intend to—patience, love,” he murmured, returning to laving at her slowly, agonizingly.

Her grip in his hair was tight, likely causing pain to prickle in his scalp. He said nothing of it, though his fingers pressed into her flesh harshly. She wrapped a leg around his back beckoning him closer and he ran a featherlight fingertip along her soaking entrance before he pushed into her with two fingers. As his fingers curled upward, her hips fought his strength to rise once more. “Harder,” she commanded, pressing his face closer.

Malfoy pulled back and turned his face, skimming along her skin before he bit down on the pulse point. “I need to breathe. If you don’t hold still, I’ll stop.”

That sounded like pure fucking torture, though Hermione knew for certain that Draco Malfoy really was the Devil incarnate as he took his sweet fucking time to bring her to release. _“Please,”_ she breathed, feeling cheapened as she begged for more.

His face was buried in her cunt once more, his fingers and tongue working in tandem, a delightful pressure that made her knees shake on either side of his head. Her head dropped back, her vision blurring as she stared up at the dim chandeliers of the pub. In her shoes, her toes curled and her eyes rolled back as he sucked and swirled his way to her orgasm. She moaned his given name and received a throaty groan against her, one that made her tremble with its vibrations.

Rising from his bent position, he ran a lazy hand over his mouth, wiping away most of the slick before his lips were on hers, his tongue parting them without forgiveness. Her taste on his tongue was erotic and she grew intoxicated by him—his touches, his gruffness, the sounds he made as he moved and explored her.

His hands were on her hips, tearing her from the bar in one swift move. His teeth pulled at her bottom lip, bruising; the pain sent jolts straight to her core, still throbbing with aftershocks from her orgasm. Hermione worked the buckle of his belt deftly, giving him just as much punishing pressure in the kiss as she took. Their teeth clicked and nipped and bit at one another as she pushed his trousers and underwear down unceremoniously.

Malfoy leaned against the bar, caging her in as her hand wrapped around his cock, a hissing breath escaping through his clenched teeth. Her tongue wet her lips in anticipation—the sight of him disheveled and bared to her was absolutely mouthwatering. A single pearl of come glistened on his tip as she dropped to her knees before him. Without hesitance, she ran her tongue along his length, chasing her hand as she stroked him lightly. His hand threaded into her hair, repaying her earlier actions with a painful tug.

“Quit fucking _teasing,”_ he warned, pushing into her with such a force that he hit the back of her throat.

Her throat constricted and fought the intrusion, but he refused to relent. Eyes watering and fingernails digging into his thighs, Hermione could do little more than moan against him as he held her head firmly in place, his hips creating a quick rhythm. Above her head, Malfoy lifted her glass of bourbon to his lips and downed it in one quick swallow, taking an ice cube into his mouth before spitting it out with a _clink!_

“Get the fuck up here, witch,” he commanded, tugging her hair.

He pulled away from her, her lips smacking at his absence. A shiver racked his body at the cool air replacing the warm heat of her mouth. Hermione curled one hand around the fabric of his jumper and the other behind his neck, pulling him closer to her. His mouth was cool from the ice he had sucked on as he dragged it down the column of her neck, over her collar bone and finally as he pushed her bra down and rolled his tongue along her taut nipple. The chilled sensation made her pebble further in his mouth as he grazed his teeth along her flesh.

Hermione placed her hands on either side of his jaw, simultaneously pushing him away from her chest and pulling his face up to kiss him. Malfoy broke the kiss and turned her around, pressing her firmly into the wood of the bar top and lifting her skirt around her waist. Rising on the tips of her toes and angling her hips in his direction, she groaned as he ran his tip along her seam teasingly, toying with varying pressure against her clit. “Quit _teasing_ ,” she repeated his earlier sentiment, rolling her hips against him.

With a responding grunt, he lined up with her entrance, filling her with one quick thrust. The two sighed together and he moved his hand from where it was bruising her hip, gliding it over her belly and settling between her legs. His fingers ran circles over her as his other hand held her steady against the bar. It was almost painful, the way her hip bones clanked against the wood. But she could think of nothing except the fast tempo he had created in leaving and filling her repeatedly. Each time he drew out was nearly enough to make her sob, only to be replaced with the full, delicious feel of him once more.

A sound left her mouth, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and his lips were on her shoulder. “You feel so good,” she confessed, refusing to be embarrassed by her admission.

“You like the way my cock feels filling your tight little cunt?” he murmured, his breathing picking up as his pace faltered slightly.

“I’d like it more,” she panted, spreading her feet a little wider, “if you fucked me harder.”

“As you wish, pretty little witch,” he growled, lifting his weight away from her back to grab her hips with both hands.

Hermione snaked a hand between her abdomen and the bar, replacing his on her clit. Her hips rolled to meet his, her toes lifting off of the ground with each of his thrusts. “So, _ah,_ good,” she moaned, biting down on her bottom lip.

Her eyes flickered toward the door, realizing that she had forgotten to draw the curtain. Somehow, the idea of being caught getting thoroughly fucked by Draco Malfoy over the bar where she served dozens of patrons each day only served to increase her arousal. He kissed along the line of her spine, his fingertips digging into the bend of her hips.

He swatted her hand away and expertly touched her, her cunt responding to his every ministration with a pulsing flutter. Her hands fell to the far edge of the bar, holding her in place even as her toes skimmed the floor. “Merlin, fuck. You’re so _tight_.”

Logic had long since left her and she could have sworn she uttered, “You’re bloody perfect,” though the voice seemed to come from someone else.

It was impossible to think about anything, and she refused to worry about what tomorrow would bring. In _that_ moment, Malfoy _was_ perfect—his scent, his hard body pressed against hers as he took her from behind, his husky voice in her ear. Her walls began to flutter and clench around him and each thrust was drawing a huffed _ah_ from her. “That’s it, love. Let go.”

Her eyes were clenched shut and she bit her lip nearly to ruin as she rode the orgasm. Malfoy was unrelenting, fucking her through the waves. His pace was erratic and his breathing was little more than sharp pants against the skin of her back. Her hands clamped around the bar’s edge, stretching out before her as she put her forehead against her arm. Finally, Malfoy thrust into her, holding her still as a sensual groan fell from his lips. He pulled out and thrust in twice more, shuddering as pleasure wracked through him.

He stilled and dropped his forehead to her spine, licking at a bead of salty perspiration and kissing her gently. Her toes were barely touching the ground as he held her in place, his weight holding her down. Every inch of her would be sore in the morning and still, Hermione found herself wanting another round with him.

Malfoy ran his hands along her sides and lowered her skirt as he righted her on the ground, moving her hair away from her neck to place a few lazy kissing along her ear. Hermione turned in his hold, pushing her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I want more—come home with me.”

He huffed a laugh and raised an eyebrow. “My seed is still dripping down your thighs and you’re ready for another go?”

“Come home with me,” she repeated, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” he questioned, pulling his jeans back up.

“Blaise and Lavender were right all along,” she groaned.

A laugh sounded through the empty pub as he took her face between his palms. “Somehow, I’m not too upset with being wrong.”

 

 


End file.
